Paper Hearts
by LuxKen27
Summary: Series 3. They could never quite get their timing right…until they did. Four times when Archie shouldn't have kissed Lexie (but did), and one time when he very definitely should have – and did.


**Title:** Paper Hearts

 **Author:** LuxKen27

 **Fandom:** _Monarch of the Glen_

 **Universe:** Canon (Series 3)

 **Genre** : Drama, Romance

 **Rating:** M

 **Warning(s):** Language, innuendo

 **Word Count:** 9,455

 **Summary:** Series 3. They could never quite get their timing right…until they did. Four times when Archie shouldn't have kissed Lexie (but did), and one time when he very definitely should have – and did.

 **DISCLAIMER:** The _Monarch of the Glen_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 2000-2005 Michael Chaplin/Ecosse Films/BBC Scotland. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended. Original scene dialogue composed by Niall Leonard, Andrew Taft, Harriett O'Connell, Mark Holloway, and John Martin Johnson.

"I Want You to Know" lyrics © 2015 Anton Zaslavski, Ryan Tedder, & Kevin Nicholas Drew

.xxxxx.

Archie was tired. He was hungry, and cold, and the last place he wanted to be was in the kitchen of Kilwillie Castle, listening to Lexie natter on about the latest and greatest gadgetry she had access to, now that she was back in a 'proper' kitchen.

He still couldn't quite believe that she'd actually done it – she'd actually defected to the neighboring estate, after leading the (rather successful) workers' revolt at Glenbogle. He had to admire her audacity, if not her determination. Convincing her to come back wouldn't be easy.

Good thing he was just as stubborn as she was.

"Lexie, I've been an idiot," he broke in, cutting her off mid-ramble. "I couldn't see what was under my nose."

She arched a sardonic brow. "That was my bosom," she reminded him, bringing their confrontation on the stairs in the front hall at Glenbogle rushing back to the forefront of his mind. "I'm sorry if it offended you."

"I didn't find it offensive, I found it…" He trailed off, realizing what he was saying, and how dangerously close he was to revealing more than he cared to. "I mean – I was tired, I was angry, I didn't know what I was saying," he amended hastily.

"That's okay." She shrugged, averting her eyes. "I know."

A distinctly discomfiting feeling rose up from the pit of his stomach. Lexie knew Glenbogle inside and out, and her presence there was vital to the success of the estate – and not just because she was the only one of the lot of them who could keep the heating going. She organized and ran the entire household with a rather amazing degree of efficiency and authority; just how much they'd taken that for granted had been made painfully obvious over the last few days.

"Look," he said softly, taking a step towards her, "I'm sorry."

She didn't respond, didn't even bother to look at him.

"Do you want me to grovel?" he asked pointedly.

She lifted her eyes to meet his. "Go ahead," she replied, shrugging again, "if it makes you feel better."

He studied her for a long moment, wondering once again what it was that had been her tipping point. None of them had been happy with the terms of the bank's takeover of the estate, but Lexie seemed to have taken the hump of the whole thing. On one hand, he couldn't blame her; it had been pretty shitty of him to ask what few estate workers were left to take a fifty percent pay cut, even if he felt he didn't have any other choice at the time. He felt especially bad about that now, after he'd managed to outmaneuver Stella on this particular point of contention and help the staff – his _friends_ – keep their employment.

On the other hand, Lexie had taken to Stella like a cat to water, taking personal offense to her very presence, much less his attempts to work with her within the bank's framework. She didn't seem to understand that he _couldn't_ just take a principled stand against the bank or their on-site representative, because their only alternative was to sell the estate to pay their debts.

And there was absolutely no way he'd ever let that happen – not as long as he drew breath, at least.

They were stuck with Stella, at least for the time being. He didn't like her presence at Glenbogle any more than Lexie did, though perhaps she'd gotten the wrong impression about that. More than once already, she'd accused him of cozying up to her, of taking her side against the rest of them, as if he had some sort of personal interest in her – or hell, even a choice in the matter.

"Look, Lex," he started, his tone overly patient, "there's nothing going on between me and Stella."

"You can grab her gaskins all you want, Arch," she huffed defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's no skin off _my_ nose!"

His jaw dropped. "I wasn't – ! I _wouldn't_ – !" he sputtered, launching himself towards her. "For goodness sake, Katrina's just left – I'm hardly going to throw myself at Stella, even if she did want to catch me!"

She stopped him in his tracks with the sheer force of her wounded glare, leaving him with the distinct impression that he'd managed to say _exactly_ the wrong thing. But what else was there to say? He had no interest in Stella's charms, and losing Katrina as abruptly as he had was not something he could just _get over_ in a matter of days.

And the last thing he wanted to do right now was run off yet another important person from his life. Lexie was so much more than a member of his staff, or even a friend; she was quite possibly the closest ally he had at Glenbogle, and he wasn't prepared to just let her leave without a fight – even if she had only gone as far as the neighboring estate.

"Lexie, come back – _please_ ," he pleaded, clasping her elbows.

"And what for?" she challenged, meeting his gaze directly as she tightened the brace of her arms around herself. "What is there for me at Glenbogle?"

He searched her features for a long moment, feeling strangely disembodied as he absorbed her defiant request. He knew what she was really asking of him, but he wasn't sure how to respond. _Of course_ he wanted her back – was his very presence there, at that moment, not proof enough of that fact?

And if not…then how could he possibly convince her?

Without realizing what he was doing, he leaned forward, drawing her close and capturing her lips in a sensuous kiss. She stiffened, a flutter of surprise rolling down her back, and then she yielded to him, completely, utterly, opening her arms and closing the space between them – only to suddenly shove him away.

"What makes you think _I_ want to catch you?" she muttered under her breath, and when he looked at her again, he noted that she was near tears, which was certainly not the reaction he'd been looking for.

"Lexie – " he tried, only for her to cut him off at the pass.

"Don't," she cut in. "Don't say it. Don't say _anything_." The pain in her tone was obvious, and he knew better than to push.

He nodded instead, taking a step back, letting her go. "Glenbogle is your home, Lex," he murmured, taking a different tack. "You've always said so."

She flushed, averting her eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe it's time I flew the nest," she replied, closing her arms tightly around herself again.

He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat, rather amazed with his singular ability to make everything instantly worse. Obviously what he couldn't say in words, he couldn't convey in actions, either.

"I'll send your stuff over, then," he acquiesced.

She pursed her lips, somehow managing to look simultaneously amazed and annoyed. "That'd be great," she replied insolently.

He nodded again as he turned away, his mind already working overtime as he took his leave of the Kilwillie Castle kitchen. He had no idea how he was going to rectify the situation, but he knew he had to do _something_. Glenbogle wasn't the same without her.

 _He_ wasn't the same without her.

And he wasn't yet done fighting for her just yet.

 _I want you to know that it's our time – you and me bleed the same light…_

.xxxxx.

… _I'm slipping down a chain reaction – and here I go, here I go, here I go, go…_

Running across an errant, frilly piece of lingerie in the middle of the hall was not exactly the way he anticipated his morning continuing.

He was dressed for a funeral, in a somber black suit and tie, and his mood matched his attire to perfection. His family was attending services for a close family friend, but everyone in the household seemed to be on edge for one reason or another. His father was up in arms about his missing mourning suit; Golly was about to come face-to-face with his long-lost daughter for the first time in twenty years. Add all of that to the stress of having Stella actually living at the house now, and it was a small wonder that none of them had totally cracked up yet.

He sighed, stooping to pick up the lacy, lavender-colored undergarment, and turned it over in his hands, almost instantly realizing who it belonged to – and why it was probably in the hall. He glanced around the corner, noticing the door to the utility room was ajar, and started off in that direction.

"Lex?" he called out, spotting her just as she began to wind her way down the stairs.

She turned, a flush coloring her cheeks when she realized why he'd called out to her. She trudged back towards him, gripping the sides of an overflowing basket of laundry, and he dropped her bra on top of the lot.

He studied her for a long moment. He'd finally managed to convince her to return to Glenbogle, much to the relief of everyone who lived there. She'd been even more playful and flirtatious than usual, which he'd appreciated, but even more than that, she'd also helped him out of a major jam, managing to secure – on short notice – enough food to feed all twelve of his friends who had come up from London for a weekend of fishing. They had arrived in the midst of absolute chaos, but somehow she'd managed to hold everything together, and the weekend had been a huge success. They'd manage to clear £20,000 in all, much of it thanks to Lexie's keen planning and preparation.

So to see her so miserable now, and to know that he was at least partially to blame for it, made him feel like a cad. But what could he do? He couldn't very well let Stella starve on the street after she'd been booted from Duncan's aunt's BnB. The only logical thing – the only _gentlemanly_ thing to do was to have her set up her lodgings at Glenbogle House. After all, there were 67 rooms on offer – it wasn't like they were putting anyone out in order to allow her to move in.

Except maybe Lexie. She'd certainly made known her dismay with this latest turn of events.

He glanced at his watch. "Lexie, we're just about to go," he said.

"You don't have to tell me what you're doing, Arch," she informed him, adjusting her hold on the laundry basket. She leaned close, adding pointedly, "or who you're doing it with."

He sighed, barely able to refrain from rolling his eyes. "If you're referring to Stella," he replied, striving for a calm, measured tone of voice, "she has our best interests at heart."

Lexie's response was an incredulous stare. "That doesn't mean you had to ask her to move in," she shot back.

Archie squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lexie's absolutely unwarranted jealousy over the whole Stella situation at turns amused and irritated him. She had nothing to be jealous of – _he_ couldn't stand the sight of Stella at the breakfast table any more than _she_ could – but the bank manager's very presence in the house had been enough to permanently get her back up.

"Look, Lex," he began, launching into a speech that was starting to sound vexingly familiar, "Stella has come here to help save Glenbogle. We might not like her style or her way of doing things, but she's the only chance we've got."

He held her gaze for a long moment. "Either we help her, or we can say goodbye to our home forever."

She scowled. "That might be a price worth paying," she muttered under her breath.

He touched her face, drawing his thumb over the crest of her cheek. "Come on, Lex," he murmured soothingly, "you don't mean that."

He felt the flush of her skin beneath his fingertips, and she averted her eyes, seemingly conceding his point.

"Look," he said, dropping his hand, "we all have a part to play."

"Yeah," she huffed sardonically, "and it's becoming quite obvious what mine is!" She tightened her grip on the laundry basket and turned away. "Don't worry. I'll just stay down here, out of the way, where I can't upset anyone."

She made to leave, to descend the spiral staircase towards the washroom, but he stopped her, clasping a hand around her arm and halting her in her tracks.

"Come on, Lexie," he said quietly, "you know how we stand."

She glanced back at him. "Do I?" she challenged. She shook her head, pulling out of his grasp. "Why did I bother coming back? Surely now that Wonder Woman is here, she can run this household better than I can!"

"That's not the only reason you're here," he returned, side stepping her in order to face her again, "and you know it."

She gazed at him for a long moment, her big blue eyes even wider and rounder than usual as she searched his features for the answer to a question she hadn't yet posed.

"Do I?" she inquired softly.

Wordlessly, he tugged the laundry basket from her arms, balancing it against his own hip as he took a step closer to her. He reached for her with his free hand, curling his fingers over the nape of her neck, and leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a sweet, gentle kiss.

She responded in kind, closing the space between them and cupping his face in her hands, repaying his tender caress with one of her own, and in turn churned up a sudden, swift wave of longing from the very center of his being.

He kissed her again, knowing that he had to stop this, before he got carried away, but he didn't _want_ to – the feeling of her mouth under his was absolute perfection, her lips warm and soft and supple and pliant. It was a stark reminder of why he hadn't made a habit of kissing her – and why he desperately wanted to, for or against his better judgment.

He lingered as long as he dared, only reluctantly letting her go, and he hoped like hell that his yen for her wasn't written all over his features. He watched as she opened her eyes, her gaze rising to meet his, and he was struck by the raw desire he found reflecting back at him. Here was the invitation that he'd sought, but no matter how much he wanted to accept it, he knew that he couldn't.

Not now. Not yet. Not while the world was falling to pieces around him.

He took a step back, abruptly clearing his throat as he clutched at the basket still digging into his side. He saw it, the second the spell was broken for her, and fought the impulse to fall right back into that heady, delicious moment with her.

"Please, try to get along with Stella," he finally managed, his heart skipping a beat when her face fell in response. "If you could just see that she gets what she needs…"

She sighed, her expression shuttering completely as she retook the laundry basket from him. "Of course," she replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Seeing as you asked so nicely."

He resisted the urge to touch her again, knowing that it would only make things worse. "Thank you," he responded, his gaze lingering on her. _Please be patient_ , he longed to add, even though he knew he had no right to ask that of her.

No, he considered as she turned away, heading down the stairs without looking back, he was fairly certain that he'd just lost the right to ask _anything_ of her. For every step he took towards her, he seemed to find himself three steps off the pace – and he wondered if they'd ever manage to get their timing right.

.xxxxx.

 _Honey, it's raining tonight, but storms always have an eye…_

Somehow, everything between them had fallen apart.

Well, no, he knew _how_ : trouble had manifested itself in the form of Stuart Macintosh. His name should've been a clue; the Macintosh clan had long been the bitter rival of the MacDonalds. Archie liked to think that they lived in the 21st century, but as it turns out, old hatred runs deep.

Stuart had been a wily one, too, making sure that he had all of his ducks in a row before he unleashed what was to be his ultimate revenge: stealing the mountain Ben Bogle from the estate, with plans to put up the endlessly tacky Boglecroft tourist trap. Archie had fought against it with all his might – and, it seemed, all for naught. Stuart was going to have his way, unless Duncan could pull a miracle out of thin air and produce something tangible to prove that Ben Bogle had once been the site of a historic battle between the Macintosh and MacDonald clans.

But beyond Boglecroft – beyond the bloodlust to destroy the MacDonald estate that seethed just below Stuart's surface – he'd managed something even more sinister.

He'd gotten to Lexie.

And he'd used her for nefarious purposes, all the while trying on with Stella behind her back.

Archie had tried to warn her, but she'd brushed off his accusations as mere jealousy. He couldn't deny that jealousy had played a part, but more than that – more than his own selfish desire to have her for himself – was his genuine concern for her wellbeing. She had been in a raw place when Stuart swept in, and he'd managed to charm her far too easily. After Stella had revealed all about his come-ons, Archie didn't see any other way for this all to end except in tears.

He had to give Lexie her due, though – her confrontation with Stuart during the bridge re-opening ceremony had been nothing short of magnificent. He'd witnessed her explosive temper before, and had found himself in the business end of her rapier wit on more than one occasion, but the viciousness with which she'd pelted Stuart with that bouquet of flowers was truly a sight to behold. She'd actually managed to rip his suit – with _flowers_!

As angry as she was, she was also firmly in control of herself, handing him his head on a metaphorical platter. She hadn't lingered about to witness the aftermath of her attack, and neither had he – because he'd seen the tears in her eyes, even if she'd refused to let them fall.

She'd stormed off, and he'd followed her, bridge re-opening be damned.

He called out to her several times, but she didn't bother to slow her stride as she retreated to the house. He saw it, the moment her righteous anger melted into unrelenting pain: her shoulders drooped, her head fell, and she began to run down the gravel path of the drive.

He picked up his pace as well, but could never quite catch her – not even when they were inside the house. She took the stairs two at a time, swiping furiously at the tears that cascaded down her cheeks, and his heart ached for her. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and to just hold her; to soothe away her sorrow and anguish and pain; to assure her that she _was_ worthy and worthwhile, no matter how much Stuart – or Stella – had beaten her down.

He _wanted_ to love her – and he was fast running out of reasons as to why he couldn't.

"Lexie!" he tried again, his breath coming harder and faster as he chased her up the stairs, beyond even her room on the third floor. "Please – wait!"

"What for?" she choked out, gazing back at him from a half-flight up. "So you can say 'I told you so'?" An ugly sob broke in her chest. "I don't want to hear it, Arch. Just – leave me alone, okay?"

"Lexie, that's not why I'm here," he argued as she took off again, climbing up the narrow, spiral staircase of the old tower. "Lexie!"

She reached the attic room and slammed the door shut with a forceful shove; he made it just in time to hear the lock slide into place from the inside.

For a long moment, he simply leaned against the door, fisting his hands against the heavy oak as he fought to catch his breath. He could hear her crying, her sobs muffled by the barrier between them, and it was like a dull knife twisting in his gut.

He hadn't wanted this to happen – he'd done his best to prevent it from happening – yet here they were, suffering through it all the same.

"Lexie?" he called.

"Go away," came the response.

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me, Lex," he advised her, sinking back against the cool stone wall of the turret. "I can stay out here for days – I've got the Times crossword," he added jokingly, a half-smile curving the side of his mouth.

That earned him a chuckle. "You're useless at crosswords," she reminded him.

"Exactly," he said quietly. She was quite right – he had no natural gift for word puzzles; she'd teased him about it relentlessly in the past.

"You'll be missing the sod turning," she called out a moment later.

"I couldn't care less," he replied. The last place he wanted to be was standing on the side of Ben Bogle, bearing witness to the moment when Stuart Macintosh would (un)ceremoniously yank it all away from him.

A patch of silence stretched out between them; the only sound emanating from the room was an occasional sniffle.

"So are you coming out?" he asked.

She didn't respond directly; instead, he heard the lock slowly side open on the other side of the door.

He hesitated but for a moment, closing his hand around the knob and twisting it. It gave way freely, the door swinging open on squeaking hinges, revealing the dusty old contents of the room – and Lexie herself, standing right in the middle of it all.

She was trying to hold herself together, but her façade crumbled when her eyes met his, tears slipping down the sides of her face.

He needed no further invitation. He swept her into his arms, bringing her close, his hold on her firm and sure. Her arms slid around his waist as she tucked her head into the hollow of his neck, her tears warm as they pooled on his shoulder.

"I feel like such a fool," she confessed after a moment.

"Well, he fooled everyone," Archie sighed, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Even Stella."

Lexie exhaled sharply, turning away from him, though her head still rested on his shoulder. "I'll bet you she's loving this," she blubbered.

Archie shrugged. "It was her who blew the whistle on him," he told her. "And when she told me what he was doing… I knew I had to tell you. I didn't want to see you get hurt."

She closed her arms around him, hugging him close by way of reply. He took it as a good sign, even if she was still looking away.

He was surprised, then, to feel another sob welling up in her chest. "I could just kick myself," she whispered mournfully, turning back towards him, pressing her eyes into the fabric of his suit jacket.

"I know," he murmured soothingly, touching her face, tracing the crest of her cheek with his thumb. "I'm sorry, Lex."

She nodded, burrowing into him, accepting his apology for all it was worth. He _was_ sorry – that they had fallen out; that they had exchanged heated words that he, at least, had come to regret. He was sorry for letting his jealousy overwhelm his better judgment – and for waiting so long to tell her what Stella had confided in him. He'd wrestled with that very dilemma for most of the previous evening, as he and the others dug into the turf on Ben Bogle in their vain attempt to stave off the inevitable. He hadn't wanted to run the risk of hurting her, or alienating her even more than she already was, but in the end, he knew that he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he hadn't said _something_.

He hadn't wanted it to end like this. He'd never actually seen Lexie cry before, and it hurt him more than he ever thought possible.

He dropped a kiss into her hair, and she looked up, her eyes taking a slow journey from his mouth up to meet his gaze. The hand at her cheek slid down and around, cupping the back of her head as he brought her close, leaning down as she leaned up, their lips meeting in a soft, sweet kiss.

He held her there for a long moment, drawing out the promise that lingered between them. One kiss cascaded into another, and another, each softer and sweeter than the last, tender and comforting, mending the rift that had very nearly ended their relationship.

He felt her smile as he pulled away, just enough so that he could see her, and his heart warmed as he took in her blissful expression. Maybe it was wrong – maybe he was taking advantage of her volatile, vulnerable state – but it felt so incredibly _right_. Dangerous, even: he could kiss her forever and never have his fill.

"You ready to come down?" he asked, smoothing his fingers across the nape of her neck in a soothing caress.

She shook her head slowly, her eyes falling back down to his mouth. "Not just yet," she murmured, closing her arms around him. "Can we hide up here a little longer?"

He smiled. "Absolutely," he responded, resting his forehead on hers. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

.xxxxx.

… _and once again I'm yours in fractions – it takes me down, pulls me down, pulls me down low…_

Archie was sometimes amazed at the sorts of situations he found himself mired in.

He'd tried a lot of things during his tenure as laird of the estate, with varying degrees of success: bottling the spring water; opening aviaries and nature trails and a visitor's centre; a wedding planning business; embedding webcams around the house to broadcast their curious existence live on the internet.

The one thing he'd never attempted was switching places with any of his estate staff. He never had any desire to, knowing that they were all much better at their jobs than he ever could be – yet here he was, by some miserable twist of fate, sitting in Duncan's messy cottage, wearing Duncan's ratty old kilt, studying Duncan's health and safety manuals, while Duncan lived it up in the Big House, showing his French pen-friend Marie-Hélène around as if he owned the place.

It was patently ridiculous, of course, but Archie wasn't sure that his mother's schemes were ever anything but. When she'd found out that Duncan had written a collection of falsehoods in his letters to Marie-Hélène, she'd somehow decided that the best course of action was not for him to tell her the truth, but for everyone else on the estate to pretend that Duncan's pack of lies was true, to save Duncan's blushes and to give him a proper chance to win Marie-Hélène's heart.

It all would've been an amusing lark, Archie supposed, if not for a simultaneous, surprise, and most unwelcome visit by the health inspector, which had turned into a complete and utter disaster.

It certainly gave him a new appreciation for Duncan's abilities as head ranger. For all his absent-minded stumbling about, he knew the safety manuals like the back of his hand. Surely Duncan wouldn't have racked up as many black marks against their record as Archie had; in one measly day, he hadn't managed to do one thing right, from administering CPR to evacuating the house during a fire alert. The inspector had recommended that he be fired, in fact, for being so dangerously incompetent – and, possibly, completely insane.

Maybe he _was_ insane, he mused, considering he'd managed to single-handedly torpedo the estate in the course of a single day. Unless they could find some way around it, the health inspector was going to shut Glenbogle down to visitors – their main source of revenue – perhaps forever.

Which meant that the bank would never get off his back. Stella might as well move into the Big House permanently.

Archie's stomach did a nauseatingly slow somersault as Stella drifted into his mind. She'd already made a pass at him, and though he'd shot her down pretty quickly, he knew that he was treading on dangerous ground. She'd all but told him that she'd fallen in love with him, and that her feelings for him were hampering her ability to successfully run the estate because she'd gotten "too close to the business."

For once, his own feelings on the matter were clear to him; it was too bad that he couldn't actually give her the cut direct. She was still in charge of the estate, after all, and she could make his life a living hell if she so desired. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and all that.

Unfortunately, the only way to be rid of her was to win back control of the estate from her, and the only way he could do that was by working _with_ her to make it a success.

That is, if the health inspector didn't shut them down for good.

Mercifully, his bleak evening had taken a turn for the better when Lexie unexpectedly dropped by, looking breathtakingly gorgeous in a sleek, black, rather un-Lexie-like dress. He welcomed her distraction from his dilemma, even though all he could offer her for dinner was a humble plate of scrambled eggs.

It had been a long time since he'd cooked a meal for a woman – since his days with Justine, in fact. He couldn't believe that only two years had passed since that fateful phone call, the one that had dragged him back kicking and screaming to Glenbogle from his quietly successful life in London.

It might as well have been a lifetime ago, for all that it felt so distant.

There were a lot of things about that life that he missed. He'd been his own man, building his own fortune on his own terms. He'd answered to no one, and had been responsible for no one. He'd lived in a modest flat that he'd shared with one other person – his stunningly sophisticated girlfriend. Things had been a lot simpler back then, a lot clearer, more certain.

And yet, if he'd had it to do all over again, he wouldn't change a thing. Coming back to Glenbogle had been difficult, but it had also been a challenge worth meeting. He'd owed it to his parents – to Jamie – to _himself_ to see it through, to make the estate viable again – for them, yes, but also for the future.

 _His_ future.

He'd never really given much thought to having kids…until now. Even when his father had attempted to marry him off at thirty in order to induce the production of heirs, it had all been quite theoretical. Every time he thought he'd found The One that he'd ultimately settle down with, something would happen to burst his bubble and bring him crashing back down to reality. With Justine, it had been her absolute intolerance of Highland life; with Katrina, it was her desire for a career beyond Glenbogle.

Losing them had been difficult, but he wasn't one to stand on ceremony, and he _wasn't_ going to stand in their way. For all that he'd gone through for – and with – them, he'd come through it clinging to one single certainty: he needed a woman by his side who wouldn't ultimately come to resent him for being the laird of a crumbling Highland estate in the wilds of Scotland, because it wasn't like there was anything he could do to change that fact.

And maybe he'd finally found her. Maybe – just maybe – she'd been there all along, right under his nose the entire time.

God knows he couldn't tear his gaze away from her this evening, at least.

"How are the eggs?" he murmured, drawing her attention across the dinner table.

"Not bad," she remarked with a bit of a smile, meeting his gaze directly. "You should cook more often."

"Thanks," he replied, feeling inordinately pleased by her assessment of her paltry meal. After a moment, he sighed. "I'd forgotten how much I missed all this."

"What?" she mused, toying with her coffee cup. "Scrambled eggs?"

"No, _this_ ," he said, gesturing to their simple surroundings. "Supper without dressing up, without my father banging on about El Alamein or the tenth hole…and your cooking."

She arched a brow. "And what's wrong with my cooking?" she inquired sardonically.

"There's nothing wrong with your cooking," he amended hastily, a flush washing over the back of his neck. He picked up her plate and made to stand. "It, um…it was a joke."

"And that was a lie," she declared with a smile, her sharp, assessing gaze following him as he cleared the table, placing their dishes in the sink.

A patch of silence spread out between them. "Well, you're welcome to cook anytime," she finally said, picking up her cup as she crossed the modest space and sank into an overstuffed armchair.

He smiled, following her across the room, settling himself on Duncan's well-worn sofa.

"It's funny," he mused aloud, tenting his hands over his chest. "Being down here, away from the house… It helps put things into perspective." He looked over at her. "It's really easy to lose sight of what's important."

"Oh?" She leaned forward, setting her cup on the floor as she curled up with an old throw pillow. "What's important to you?"

He considered her question for a long moment. "My family," he finally answered. "The estate…friends…"

She averted her eyes. "Is that enough?" she asked softly.

"For what?"

She shrugged, hugging the pillow close. "To… you know …" Her eyes met his again. "Make you happy?"

"Not really, no," he replied without hesitation, his gaze intent on her as he toyed with a button on his Henley.

She swallowed hard, her lips parting as her eyes fell to his hand, and then away altogether.

"What about you?" he asked.

She smiled, a slight flush burnishing her cheeks. "The same," she admitted quietly, looking at him once more. "I mean – I guess I want a family…kids…"

"Well," he considered, watching her carefully, "that does usually require some sort of male input."

Her smile widened into a smirk, and she rolled her eyes. "And you males think far too much about your _input_ ," she proclaimed, tossing the pillow she'd been holding squarely at him.

"What, me?" he sputtered, genuinely surprised by her response. He'd been fishing to find out if he had any sort of competition that he wasn't aware of, not attempting to make some sort of clumsy proposition.

Then again, he was rather the king of clumsy propositions, at least when it came to her.

"Yes, _you_ ," she teased, earning a toss of the pillow straight back at her.

She giggled, swinging at him again, and he picked up another pillow, readying himself for the fight. He couldn't keep himself from laughing as they waged their playful battle, as the silliness of the entire situation struck him. He hadn't felt this ridiculous – or this _free_ – in ages.

In _years_.

And God, it felt good to laugh.

In due time, he saw his opportunity, and he took it. Lexie was balanced precariously on the edge of her seat as she swung at him, her strike catching him on the shoulder; he reached out in response, tugging her over the edge; when she lost her balance and threw out of her arms to steady herself, he pulled her to the relative safety of the sofa.

Her laughter died away as she became aware of her awkward positioning, trapped between him and the arm of the chair. Her expression sobered as she turned to him, her eyes rising to meet his. He searched her features for a long moment, finding no resistance when he touched her face, tracing the line of her jaw. He drew her close, his lips meeting hers in a soft, sensuous kiss.

One kiss cascaded into another, and another; he tucked the pillow he still held behind her, his hand drifting up to caress the smooth, bare skin of her back. He leaned into her, and she yielded beneath him, falling back on the sofa, circling her arms around him and bringing him down with her. She opened her mouth to him, allowing him to taste the sweetness of her tongue, and he lost all semblance of reason. He could feel the heat of her body seeping into his as their kisses lengthened and deepened; beads of sweat formed on his brow as he burrowed closer to her, his hands sliding down over the sleek silk of her dress to find her hips, to squeeze the curve of her backside. He used the leverage of his position to his advantage, parting her legs as he pressed her down into the cushions of the sofa, and she moaned in response, deep in her throat, the sound reverberating through her and into him, sending a shiver of excitement racing down his spine – and straight to his groin.

He trailed a line of kisses down the column of her neck, nipping at the soft, delicate skin of her shoulder, nosing aside the strap of her dress. She raked her nails down the planes of his back, fisting her hands in his shirt and tugging it free from his belted kilt. The coolness of the night air on his skin, in contrast to the heated, intimate press of their bodies, was like a shock to his system, bringing him back to the present, making him acutely aware of their surroundings.

What the hell was he doing? And _here_ , of all places?!

His hands immediately moved up into safer territory; he lifted his head, brushing kisses to the tip of her chin, the crest of her cheek, all the while hoping he could somehow gently disengage the rest of his body from hers without her realizing it.

Unfortunately, he had no such luck.

She chuckled beneath him. "What's this?" she mused softly, closing her arms around him, holding him firmly in place. "Shades of Penrith?"

And suddenly, his mind flooded with memories of the last time they were in this position – in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, squeezed together in a tiny, narrow bed on a sleeper train, hurtling back towards the Highlands after a disastrous trip to London. There had been a lot more alcohol – and a lot less clothing – involved that night, but even in such a state, they'd managed to come to an understanding about what they were doing, even while they were in the midst of doing it.

She held his gaze, her eyes searching his for a long moment. "I thought you said you didn't regret that night," she said quietly, her expression sobering.

"I didn't," he replied hastily. "I _don't_." If anything, it was turning him on even more, remembering their heated encounter.

"You just don't care to repeat it," she surmised, abruptly letting him go.

"Well, no," he admitted, pushing himself up and adjusting the kilt in his lap. "Not here, at least." As desperately as he wanted her, he was not yet at the point where he'd consider Duncan's disgusting old furniture the appropriate makings of a love nest.

Not that a tiny, impersonal sleeper compartment had been, but that was different. Penrith had been about comfort and loss, not love…

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she slowly eased herself up beside him. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, but she resolutely held them at bay. "Of course," she said bitterly. "Because who wants to make the same mistake twice, aye?"

He cupped her face with his hand, drawing her attention back to him, however reluctantly. "That's not what I meant, Lex," he told her. "That night was _ours_ , and ours alone, and I cherish it." _I cherish you_ , he wanted to add, but the sheer sadness in her eyes made the words wither away in his throat.

"It's easy to pretend, isn't it?" she choked out, the pain and disappointment raw in her voice. "But this isn't real life. Tomorrow you'll go back to being the laird, but I'm _always_ going to be the housekeeper."

"You are so much more to me than that, Lexie," he said fiercely, though he winced at the note of desperation in his tone.

She shook her head sadly. "You don't have to lie to me, Arch," she assured him. "Just – let me have Penrith, for whatever it was worth, okay?"

She shrugged out of his hold and stood up, but he couldn't just let her leave it at that.

He twisted around on the sofa, his eyes following her as she made for the door of the cottage. "Whatever happened to finishing what we started?" he tried, catching her just as she reached for the knob.

She glanced down at her rumpled dress, and then back at him. "You tell me," she murmured, before turning on her heel and walking out the door.

.xxxxx.

"Lexie, I love you."

The words came out so easily that he wondered why it had taken him so long to actually _say_ them.

He probably couldn't have picked a more inopportune moment for this profession of love, but he'd learned long ago to take what he could get. That's why, mere moments after seeing off the last of the Midsummer Ball guests, he was crouching beside his bed, still dressed in full clan regalia, digging desperately through the contents of his nightstand. He'd originally planned to wear the laird's ring with the rest of his formal attire, but after all of his carefully-laid plans had so completely unraveled, he didn't feel worthy of bearing the symbol of leadership that had passed down through his family for the last four hundred years.

That, and he wouldn't have had to lie if pushed to reveal its whereabouts upon being forced in disgrace to step down as head of the clan.

Everything had started out auspiciously enough. The bank had decided to finance a grand Midsummer Ball at Glenbogle in order to draw in investments for luxury properties. The Highlands estate was to be their centerpiece, a living, breathing example of the bank's ability to make such an investment pay off.

It was the first such event to be held at Glenbogle in over a decade, and it represented a crowning achievement of their own: the culmination of a year's worth of work in turning around the estate and its fortunes, simultaneously managing to pave their way out of debt while also assuring the bank that its money was safe with them once again. With that came the promise of regaining independent control of the estate, freeing themselves from the bank's austerity measures – and from Stella's iron hand.

Yet somehow, everything that could possibly have gone wrong did, from Duncan's "scenic" tours of the estate to Lexie's crofter's stew to Hector's continual stream of incoherent insults directed at Lord Cranthorne, the bank's chairman. It was an absolute nightmare, and the worst part of it all was – he had no idea why they were all acting so strangely. They were _so close_ to winning their freedom back, only for everything to completely fall apart at the last possible second.

For the first time since he'd returned to Glenbogle, he'd truly despaired over his ability to ever get the estate back on its feet and in working order again. He'd felt the crushing burden of being responsible for 38,000 acres of land and all of the people who lived on it, and the difficulty, if not outright impossibility, of reconciling the past with the present, and the future. He was never supposed to be the laird, and he obviously wasn't very good at it, and he was being reminded of these failures at seemingly every turn.

It was all too much for him to bear.

But not for Lexie.

She was the one who figured out what was going on. She was the one who'd taken control of the proceedings, and by the sheer force of her will alone, had managed to salvage the ruins of the Midsummer Ball. She'd gotten everyone to cooperate, to apologize, to make nice and mingle. She'd done it all with a minimum of fuss and muss, quietly working behind the scenes to keep everything moving forward.

Considering the fact that it was Stella who had sabotaged everything in some misplaced bid to stay at Glenbogle, Lexie had every right to gloat about sweeping in to save the day, but she didn't. She didn't even tell him what was happening; she simply made it right, and left him to find out from Stella herself the reasons for her interference.

It had all culminated with the ceremonial reunification of the Stone of the MacDonalds, in which the three pieces that had been torn asunder at Bannockburn 700 years before were brought back together to be made whole again. Hector had even been magnanimous enough to allow Lord Cranthorne the honor of slotting the final piece into place. It had been a spine-tingling moment of magic – and had obviously worked its magic on the chairman, for he immediately declared that control of the estate had once again been restored to Archie.

The first person he turned to in that crowd of bank officials and clan members was Lexie – but he only caught a fleeting glimpse of her as she walked away, back towards the house, already directing the temporary staff who were bringing out the first of the main courses for dinner.

In that moment, it had all coalesced, and it all became crystal clear. He might have been the one who ultimately reclaimed the estate, but she was the one who deserved all of the credit for making it happen.

He couldn't have done it without her, and he couldn't let her go on thinking that he could.

"Lexie, I love you," he murmured again, closing his hand around his long-sought prize. He sank down onto his mattress as he pulled the laird's ring from its ceremonial box, his eyes roving over the sparkling red ruby, and the MacDonald clan crest embossed on the inside of the heavy golden band. _And you deserve this far more than I do._

He stood, tucking the ring into his pocket, and made his way through the house, towards the kitchen. He passed several of the exhausted wait staff on his way, offering them kind smiles and thanks for their hard work.

She was alone when he found her, surrounded by the aftermath of a successful fourteen-course meal. Plates, glasses, and serving dishes were stacked on every available surface of the airy Glenbogle kitchen, and Lexie stood in the middle of it all, at the big double sink, up to her arms in suds as she worked away at the thankless task of the washing up.

She looked up as he approached, offering him a small smile. "Well, that went okay, didn't it?"

"Better than that," he replied, offering quite possibly the understatement of the century. "You are a wonder."

She chuckled in response. "Get away," she demurred with a roll of her eyes, transferring the sudsy dishes in one side of the sink to the rinse water in the other. "But," she considered after a moment, "you'll never get another housekeeper like me, will you?"

"I don't deserve you," he said softly, drawing to a halt by her side.

She shot him a puzzled look. "What's to deserve?"

"Everything," he remarked, his eyes searching hers for a long moment.

She furrowed her brow, unsure of how to take his enigmatic comment, and ultimately, she shook it off. Just as he reached out for her, she turned away, moving back to the work table in the middle of the room and picking up another stack of dishes, obviously intent on adding them to the soapy water.

It wasn't the right time or place, but he couldn't stop himself.

"Lexie, I love you," he told her, the words pouring out of him, as if of their own volition.

She stopped short, halfway to the sink. She could only stand there, her knuckles blanching white as she clutched at the plates. When she finally found it within herself to meet his gaze, she looked totally, utterly, completely shocked.

"I think I always have," he added softly, watching her closely in order to gauge her reaction.

She took a deep, unsteady breath. "This isn't a fairy tale, Arch," she murmured, her eyes rounder and wider and bluer than ever. "We don't get a happy ending."

His heart skipped a beat. "We do if we love each other," he gently countered.

She could only shake her head in response, closing the short distance between herself and the counter. The plates landed with a heavy thud in the sink as she struggled to frame her thoughts. After a moment, she collected herself, turning to meet his gaze directly, albeit with tears in her eyes. "But you're the laird," she said haplessly. "I'm _still_ the housekeeper."

He touched her then, clasping his hand over the curve of her shoulder. Time passed at an agonizingly slow pace as he took it all in, her confusion and surprise and pain, and he ached for her. She had given so much of herself to the cause over the last year that she could no longer see what it was that made her so irresistible, so irrepressible, and so irreplaceable.

He lifted his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers over the curve of her cheek. "I want you to be my wife."

She exhaled sharply, turning away, gripping the side of the sink with both hands. "I couldn't live up to that!" she cried disbelievingly. "I–I'd let you down, and I couldn't bear that."

He circled his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "You wouldn't let me down," he assured her, giving her a comforting squeeze. "You've _never_ let me down."

"That's _different_ ," she protested weakly, even as she slumped into him. "This" – she gestured at the sink full of dirty dishes – " _this_ is what I know. This is where I belong."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "You belong with me," he insisted lowly, closing his arms around her.

She continued to shake her head in protest, even when he rested his forehead against hers. "I don't," she whispered. "I'm not right for you, Arch. I'm not skinny, or brainy, or sophisticated – "

"You're my match, Lex," he interrupted, pulling away and catching hold of her gaze. "In every way that matters."

Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes as she stared back at him, still unconvinced.

"I love you," he told her again, adding with a smile, "I love everything _about_ you. You're witty and resilient and wise and kind and beautiful…" He trailed off as he brushed away her tears.

"You're my best friend," he continued after a moment, "my most loyal companion, my strongest ally. "You're everything I've ever wanted in a woman, and everything I've ever needed in a partner." He quirked a small smile. "Do you want me to go on? Because we could be here all night."

She laughed, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I never thought –" she started haltingly, "– after everything that's happened – "

"But don't you see?" he broke in, taking both of her hands into his own. "You're the reason why we're even standing here in the first place. The world crumbled to bits all around me, and I was useless at stopping it, but you… You did what you always do: you picked up the pieces, and you made it right."

"And for that, you want to – _marry_ me?!" she choked out incredulously.

"It's not just that," he contended, "it's _you_. It's everything _about_ you – your…'Lexieness,'" he termed it with a smile, before his expression sobered. "I love _you_ , Lexie. I need you, and I want you."

He reached into his pocket, drawing out the laird's ring and presenting it to her. "I want to share _everything_ with you."

She stared at the ring, clutching the hand of his that she still held, and in that moment – the space of a breath – the space of a lifetime – all he knew was the vise grip of trepidation that squeezed around his heart. She had become such an integral part of him that he didn't know what he'd do without her, and even contemplating it as a hypothetical made him sick to his stomach.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, searching his features for an agonizingly long moment before wordlessly offering him her free hand. He slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, surprised – and yet, not – when it proved to be a perfect fit.

He brushed a kiss on the back of her hand before turning it over and pressing a kiss into the heart of her palm, and then he kissed her, long and slow and deep, reveling in the rush of heat and raw need that burned between them. He felt her smile against his lips, and he hugged her close, lifting her up and spinning her around in a slow circle, right there in the middle of the kitchen.

She laughed. "Enough, Prince Charming," she chided, batting at his shoulders so that he'd put her down. "Let me get back to reality."

He acquiesced, putting her feet back on the ground, but didn't let her go. "Did you get to enjoy the ball at all, Lex?" he asked softly, his gaze intent on her.

She speared him with a look that said it all, and his responding smile was small and sad. "Then come with me," he implored, taking her hands into his and tugging her towards the door of the kitchen.

"What?" she returned dubiously, resisting his lure. "I'll never have this place clean by breakfast!"

"Yes, _we_ will," he responded, adding pointedly, "I helped make this mess, didn't I? And I don't just mean by eating." His heart warmed at the memory of that morning, of staring at her so lovingly while he peeled the potatoes. "The dishes can wait. C'mon."

She hesitated, but ultimately agreed, offering a small nod and a smile.

His grip on her hand was firm and sure as he led her out of the kitchen, down the main corridor of the house, and out the rear door, back to the scene of the ball. A royal red carpet covered the walkway that led to the loch; a temporary dance floor had been installed on the beach, and had served as the site of the triumphant stone ceremony. Now, hours later, it was just the two of them, alone with the breeze and the midges and the sunset framing the loch.

He spotted a tape deck that one of the hired help had apparently left behind, having long since abandoned their attempt at cleaning up the place. "Dance with me?" he murmured.

Lexie followed his line of vision and snorted. "To what? The collection of Fatboy Slim remixes I lent to the cleaners?"

He chuckled. "Yes," he replied resolutely, pushing play and pulling her close. They burst into laughter as the heavy, thumping drum-and-bass filled the air around them, the ultra-modern electronic dance music a stark contrast to their staid, formal surroundings.

"Fitting, isn't it?" he mused with a smile, twirling her around the black and white checked dance floor, moving to the rhythm of the upbeat music.

She threw her arms around him, stilling him in an instant with a soul-searing, pulse-pounding, breath-stealing kiss. "I love you, Archie MacDonald," she said softly, cupping his face in her hands. "Do you know that?"

He nodded, and smiled, and kissed her again. It might have taken far too long, and they might've taken the long way round, but finally, it seemed, they'd found each other – at just the right time.

 _I want you to know that I'm all yours – you and me, we're the same force…_


End file.
